Trigger warning for violence, torture, and some gore. Harry Potter characters do not belong to me.
"The odor of death
In the front of my body,
The odor of death
Before me–
Is there anyone
Who would weep for me?"
Fear/Alice Corbin Henderson
Hermione is being taken upstairs. This is the first time she is going elsewhere.
Bellatrix is gleeful, so that means something bad is going to happen. Maybe she is being led to her execution. I wouldn't doubt it. With every step she takes, she feels more peaceful. So be it if they are going to kill her already. Hermione is proud. She never broke. She never snitched. She can die now.
The path that Hermione is being taken through lets her see glimpses and details of the manor she is imprisoned in. Malfoy Manor is quite elegant to be honest.
She is being led through a hall that has several locked doors on either side. They are wide and tall, and have golden mouldings. The railing takes whisky turns now and then that make it look like vines overpowering a mankind creation. Nature taking over on wood. The panels are hand-painted on shapes of different arrays of flowers. One door in particular sticks in her head the most. It has small hexagonal panels with orchids painted in different shades of pink and purple. Some have yellow tinted freckles, or blue dots in the tip of the petals. She decides to call it The Orchid Room. She begins to wonder what could be inside of that room. If maybe once she could unlock the golden vine without breaking the delicate orchids, she would find a room full of more. More, or less, whatever it has she would take. They take a turn, and she is being led through a different hallway. This new one has patterns that go from a variety of shades of blue to a deep black as the bottom of the ocean. Strange. I thought they would be green. This new hall feels like an underwater kingdom. Like the books Hermione used to read about Atlantis. Their steps echoed in the empty space. Knock. Knock. Knock. Bellatrix's heels are a constant rhythm of mysterious psychological intimidation. Like a hammering on Hermione's heart. A woodpecker.
Another turn and now they are in a hall that has every inch covered in family portraits, yet they are unmoving. Strange. Nothing is like she would have imagined. She is barely able to read some of the names at the bottom of every portrait. Abraxas Malfoy, Septimus Malfoy, Brutus Malfoy, Lucille Malfoy…All of them have the distinctive platinum blond hair. They are all beautiful. And they all seem cunning and sneaky.
Hermione remembers what she had heard from Mr. Weasley and Kingsley. They told her that you will never find one Malfoy at the scene of the crime, even though their fingerprints might be all over the guilty wand. They are rotting wealthy, with no need to work for a living, they have generally preferred the role of power behind the throne, happy for others to do the hard work and to take the responsibility for failure. They have helped finance many of their preferred candidates' election campaigns, which have (it is alleged) included paying for dirty work such as hexing the opposition. Their power doesn't necessarily reside on their active presence in public eyes. They are masterminds behind the curtain. They whisper in peoples' ears and they bend to their command. They are slithering snakes running away from danger, and searching to be the biggest threat.
The Malfoy lineage have been the loyal knights, and they are deadly.
The hand that forces her to walk pushes her back and now they are going upstairs inside a never ending circle of steps. Honestly, how big is this house? They arrived at a floor which is covered from top to bottom in marble. Hermione is barefoot and the floor is freezing. Every time her feet come in contact with the surface, it feels like a frozen lake underneath. Hermione looks down and her toes are going a purplish shade of blue. She doesn't mind it. Cold makes her feel alive. She had always liked the frozen sensation on her skin. Most of the time, she feels like she is burning from the inside.
When she was twelve she used to put ice cubes over her arms and legs and she would let them melt completely. Once, her mother had found her and scolded her for hurting herself. Her thighs and forearms had been bright red.
When they were in third year, Hermione ventured herself and went to the Black Lake at midnight. She used to put her feet inside until she felt pricking needles because of the cold. She felt at ease on those nights. Cold appeased the fire inside.
The marble floor doesn't seem to end. It goes on and on and it almost looks like a looking-glass she could sink into and disappear.
She turns her head to the left and there is a large mirror that follows their figures. She is seeing herself for the first time in months. She looks dirty and corpse-like. Her eyes look like two sunken valleys. Her lips are dry and bloodied. Her hair is grubby. Her bones are peaking through her collar. Her hands seem skeletal. But the thing that amazes her the most is her eyes. They are distant and unresponsive. Her gaze is bitter and detached.
One of the death eaters that accompanies Bellatrix catches Hermione looking at the mirror and tells her "Are you finally realizing how repulsive you are, mudblood?"
Hermione takes her stare away from the mirror and looks at him with annoyance. Really? That's the best you can tell me. Mudblood this and mudblood that. Can't they be more ingenious? Sincerely, for someone who hates me so much they should be able to be more eloquent with their insults. She snorts and looks down.
The noise from Bellatrix's heel comes to a halt. They are standing in front of a marble wall.
The silence is unnerving.
Hermione begins to think this is it. An alley without an exit. She is going to be hit in the back with one or two killing curses.
Fifth Year
Hermione would not say she is crazy, unstable perhaps, but still not on the bridge of dangling from reality to fantasy.
Her mind is playing tricks on her. Sometimes she loses an hour, sometimes a few minutes. She tries to remember but the memories never come.
She should probably tell McGonagall, or Harry, or Ron, or even Ginny, but what's the point?
Harry will probably try to be as supporting as he can, but he has so much on his back already. Ron will ignore her through most of her rant, he will be too preoccupied with stuffing his mouth with bacon, and shepherd's pie. He will tell her she is exaggerating her own feelings, and she just needs a "day off". Ginny is good at listening, but every time Hermione sees her, words can't come out of her mouth. McGonagall will try to be as supportive as she can as Head of Gryffindor, but then Hermione will have to explain a lot of other things she has done, and she can't bring herself to accept the reality of her situation.
Hermione feels alone.
She is alone.
Blood magic is illegal.
Blood magic is bad.
Blood magic shouldn't be learned or practiced.
Blood magic.
It all comes down to blood.
Why blood?
A red liquid holds lives to the point of extinction.
Hermione has begun to hate red. It reminds her of Gryffindor. It reminds her of Fred. But mostly, it reminds her of Dean Thomas.
Dean was funny. He was kind. He was a good advisor. He used to stay up late to help Hermione in fifth year. He then kept checking on her in sixth year. He used to tell her stories of dragons, and plants that could eat you up if you did not follow their commands. They managed to sneak a TV and some nights they would watch sci-fi movies until dawn. In the morning, Dean and Hermione would keep their distance, only a brief nod here and there. That was the unspoken agreement. They would laugh from desks apart in History of Magic, when they were too bored to take notes. Professor Binns reminded them of a character from that Irish show they had found weeks before.
Dean used to like orchids. His mother had a lot of them in their house. Dean smelled like vanilla and wet soil.
Dean was the one who held her after the battle at the Department of Mysteries.
Hermione had been the only one who had known about him and Seamus. She had been excited. She had been happy for him. She had been the only one who had been present in their improvised wedding.
But Dean was taken from her.
It was weeks before the trio would go on the Horcrux hunt. She had been careful not to go to her house. She had already obliterated her parents, but she had wanted to go one last time. To see the house from her childhood, to feel a reminiscent of home. Harry and Ron had insisted on coming. She had agreed.
They were supposed to back each other up. After the war, Dean had promised they would go to that beach Hermione always told him about. The one with the blue and turquoise water. Hermione had promised him that after the war, Seamus, Dean and her would go to a mountain up in the country where there was a secret orchid garden. They had promised to go to one of those cinema premieres where they could watch horror sci-fi movies while Seamus worked in the cafe at the end of the street.
They would make it out alive. That had been the plan. They had spent hours talking about their future. But the second Hermione entered her house that dream life was gone. And Dean was gone.
Harry had been the first to gasp. Ron whispered "Oh Merlin", and Hermione had been frozen on the spot. Fingers were scattered in every step of the staircase. There had been bloodied handprints in the door. There had been a trail of blood on the floor, leading from up the stairs to the living room. Hermione had walked to the living room, and there he was. Dean. Her Dean. Attached to the wall. His torso was torn open. His ribs were pointing to the ceiling. His eyes were open, looking straight at her. She always loved his eyes. There was a warmth to them that comforted her even on the worst days. But all she had seen in them that day was pain. A few steps to the right, on the table, Dean's heart had been laying with a knife in the center, with a note next to it.
Miss Granger. Miss Mudblood,
Haven't they told you that running doves are easy prey?
We give you his heart. It was yours after all.
We will find them.
We will find you.
Regards, the death you know well.
After reading the note, Hermione came crashing on the floor. She knelt before Dean and asked for forgiveness. She screamed and cried. She cursed the gods above. She took Dean's corpse, whatever was left of him and apparated to Sennen Cove. She talked to him, explained that there was the place they were supposed to go when everything was over. She talked and talked. She told him about Seamus' surprise for their anniversary next week. How nervous Seamus had been when he went to that comic-con, but that he had found his favorite Spiderman comic.
Hermione's clothes were stained with blood and viscera, but all she could see was Dean's smile under the light of the cinema's screen. All she could hear was Dean calling her Mulder. He was her Scully. All she could smell was vanilla and wet soil. All she could see was Dean's mother baking blueberry muffins, while Seamus and Dean danced.
Hermione was on that beach for hours. Dean was in her arms.
She came back to the burrow with Dean in her arms. Harry and Ron had come running towards her. They had been worried and scared. They were surprised. None of them had ever known about Dean and her. Nobody had. She sent a patronus to Seamus. Our orchid has withered. It said. Seamus apparated almost instantly. His eyes were filled with fear. Then he spotted Hermione on the ground with his lover in her arms. The sound, the cry, the howl that came out of his throat wrenched everybody. He came running and hugged Dean's lifeless corpse. He cried for hours. Hermione cried with him. When it began to dawn, Seamus and Hermione took out their wands and conjured a pine wood coffin. They looked into each other's eyes and knew where they should go. They apparated and they were in that mountain, the one with the secret orchid garden. It was beautiful. They broke in tears again because Dean would have loved it. They buried him among all those flowers. Seamus told him over and over how much he loved him, and that one day he would join him in the afterlife. Hermione cried all the time. Seamus took her hand and squeezed it. They looked at one another. Their fury and anguish was combined. She vowed to never break down. She vowed to kill all of those who had taken him from her. He was her Dean.
From that moment on, Hermione began to hate red. It was a reminder of him. Of his warmth, of his jokes, of his laughter. It reminded her of his blood. It reminded her of his heart.
His blood.
Her Dean.
Blood magic is supposed to be bad.
You shouldn't do blood magic. It is illegal.
But when there are wars you can't win, it all comes down to blood.
Author's Note: Did you like the chapter? It was heartbreaking for me to write it. Life often isn't fair, and we lose who we love the most. Please review and like.